


you are my because

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Make up sex, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Hannibal kills the inspector who threatened Bedelia in Florence and it makes the news. She is not happy.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	you are my because

The press of the lips betrays instantaneous exasperation as the sudden noise disturbs her contemplation.

The babble of voices from the balcony below is unexpectedly jarring to Bedelia’s ears. She cannot remember when was the last time that she was surrounded exclusively by English language and the returned capacity to understand every word being spoken within her earshot is interfering with her own thoughts. She exhales in annoyance and the sudden gush of wind makes her instinctively pull the silk robe tighter around her chest.

_She has not even gotten a chance to get dress yet._

Bedelia gives the river Thames and the bustling city sprouting beyond it one last surveying glance before stepping back into the hotel suite, shutting the balcony door, and the voices beyond, away. She had her doubts about landing in London, but Hannibal ensured her the size of the city and its airports worked in their favour. She had no reasons to question him; so far, their journey has been smooth, additional safety measures of flying through Asia and more than one set of fake documents keeping their progress uninterrupted.

And she wanted it to stay that way.

She frowns, remembering the article that has set her peace of mind aflame, its contents still imprinted on her mind with the word “il mostro” glaring in bright burning letters.

It is ironic that Hannibal has been the one who set the Google alert, whether as a precaution or plain vanity, it is unclear. But it served a fortuitous purpose, nonetheless, even if not the one he has probably hoped for.

When a strange notification sounded on the tablet left discarded on the table, Bedelia reached for it without thinking. Hannibal had taken his leave after breakfast, set to arrange their transport to the airport for the following day, first ensuring she had everything she needed and leaving her to enjoy a leisurely morning.

This definitely was not something she had needed.

The article unfolded before her eyes as soon as she opened the tablet.

_Gruesome murder in Florence sparks suspicions about the return of a legendary serial killer_

Bedelia felt the colour draining from her face as she saw the title, her eyes quickly sweeping the text below. The attached photo left little to the imagination. As initial alarm receded from her mind, she proceeded to slowly read the details of the account, her lips now pressing in annoyance, the line becoming thinner, the further information she gathered.

The man’s head was found that morning at the Loggia dei Lanzi. It was affixed to a statue known as The Rape of Sabine Women, hanging from the extended hand of the female statute at the very top. The remaining of the body was yet to be located. The man was identified as a member of the Florentine police force, inspector Benetti.

Bedelia’s eyes widened as she recognised the name immediately. It was the name of the detective who had interrogated her, or rather, _threatened_ her after the FBI’s arrival in Florence. The recollection of how she had manoeuvred her situation between pretended cooperation and feigning ignorance returned as a bitter distaste in the back of her mind.

 _Good riddance_ , she could not help but think as the man’s demise was hardly a loss. But the circumstances of his death were certainly a reason to be concerned.

Especially when she reached the last paragraph of the article.

_Inspector Benetti was involved in a murder investigation of a similarly graphic nature over three years ago, one that was suspected to link with a legendary killer labelled as “il mostro” due to the unusual manner of his killings and the elusive nature of the perpetrator. The killer has never been caught. Is it another copycat trying to feed off the fame or has the real monster risen from his grave to regain his glory? Only time will tell._

Bedelia put the tablet away, feeling her pulse racing, thuds of anger reverberating in her temples.

_What was he thinking?_

She should be impressed; Hannibal was gone for mere twelve hours.

_Last details to tie._

Those were the words he told her as he bid her goodbye early that morning and returned before she went to bed that evening, not wanting to spend even one night apart from her, a sentiment that was very much mutual.

_If only he extended a similar sentiment to their safety._

Once again, she took the tablet and looked at the picture attached to the article, the historical spot turned crime scene overnight, the dead man’s hair entangled within the stone fingers of the sculptured woman. Bedelia lets out an exasperated chuckle.

_Well, there was some tying involved._

She briefly wondered how Hannibal had disposed of the rest of the body. But it was irrelevant; the damage was already done, regardless of the undiscovered torso. Turning the tablet off, she stood up, feeling restless. The room was suddenly devoid of air and Bedelia found it hard to breathe. Luckily, their suite was equipped with a spacious balcony, providing her with the needed space of respite. Until the guests on the floor beneath her decided to the enjoy the view as well, in less congenial manner.

Now, her breath restored, the quietude of the room is soothing, her thoughts slowly returning to their crystalline order.

But not for long.

Hannibal enters the room only a few moments after she came inside, a satisfied smile on his face.

“It is all arranged, no obstacles as expected,” he pronounces with self-satisfied tone of voice, removing his jacket and placing it gingerly on the back of the chair.

Bedelia crosses her arms, looking at him in disbelief.

 _No obstacles._ Not even one dead policeman?

Hannibal finishes straightening the creases on the jacket and looks up at Bedelia, puzzled by her unforeseen silence.

“What is the matter?” he asks at once, seeing her stern expression.

Bedelia’s eyes narrow as she considers his instant concern for her. Ever so caring and innocent as if nothing has happened. Her irritation flares up, burning with force within her.

“How was Florence?” she asks courtly, her arms crossing tighter.

“It was too brief of a visit to enjoy it fully,” he answers simply, not surprised by her enquiry in the slightest. He loosens his tie in a nonchalant manner. “And it was not the same without you,” he adds, smiling at her, “We must plan a proper visit.”

Bedelia’s vexation burns her cheeks with urgency.

“Were you planning to tell me about your little side project?” she presses on. Her tone becomes colder, the more heated her mind is.

“Of course, I was,” he continues smiling at her, still strangely unmoved by her reaction. His eyes fall on the tablet, tossed aside in Bedelia’s aggravation. He steps forward, reaching for the device. The screen lights up and so does Hannibal’s face as he surveys the article.

“That is an impressively swift coverage,” he comments as he carries on reading.

“Well, I guess that is what happens when a severed head is disposed in the middle of a tourist attraction,” she tilts her head, hand reaching to adjust an unruly strand of her hair falling over her eye, a physical manifestation of her crossness.

His smile widens as he somehow seems to be mistaking her displeasure for a playful observation.

“I was going to tell you once we left England,” he asserts as though it were a secret gift he was preparing for her, “But the press got to it first, I see,” he looks up at her.

Only to have the surprise ruined, his eyes appear to be saying.

_He cannot possibly consider this to be so trivial._

“It has already made the international news,” she motions to the tablet in his hands, the shards in her eyes gleaming with frustration at his carefree attitude.

“It is nothing,” Hannibal waves his hand to emphasise the insignificance of the report, “Merely a tabloid.”

“People still read tabloids. You should know that better than anyone,” her head tilts as she continues to scrutinise him sharply. His penchant for following the Tattle Crime had always stricken her as an odd mixture of caution and egocentricity. 

“FBI does not base their knowledge on tabloids. If they did, they would prove much more effective,” he responds, smirking at his own humorous remark.

Eyes narrowing, Bedelia’s chest rises promptly as she strives to keep her breaths even.

“FBI are not the only people we should worry about,” she points out, still remembering the number of parties involved in his capture and the awards offered for his whereabouts.

“We are safe, Bedelia,” he reassures her anew, his tone still devoid of any concern.

He steps closer as if wanting to embrace her, but she takes a decisive step back.

“We have been back in Europe for three days and you have already managed to compromise our animosity,” each word like an icy splinter, she holds her hand up to halt any further attempts of placating her with tenderness.

Hannibal’s smile fades away and his brow furrows as though he were only now grasping her discontent.

“That was the man that had mistreated you,” he states firmly, mouth crooked with revulsion.

Bedelia sighs; she should have anticipated that nothing good would come from telling Hannibal about the events that occurred after she had sent him away in Florence. She can still remember the fury colouring his eyes crimson when she reiterated the details of the man’s unwelcomed advances. Yet the piercing hue faded swiftly, turning back into a gentle, loving stare he reserved for her alone. At that moment, Bedelia was taken by his care, bathing in its warm comfort; it took her a long time to admit how much she missed it. How much she missed _him_. And so, she did not give his initial reaction any further regard; it was all in the past and she was all right after all. They both were.

_But she should have known better._

Nothing is ever forgotten when it comes to Hannibal Lecter. He had merely filed the information away, storing it in anticipation for an opportune moment to right the wrongs that befell her. Finding himself within one flight distance from the man was auspicious enough for him.

“You cannot remove every man that has ever acted inappropriately in my company,” she tilts her head, trying to reduce his reasoning ad absurdum.

Hannibal’s head mirrors hers in its tilt, the raise of his eyebrows indicating otherwise, but he knows better than to say the words.

“He threatened you,” he presses on, looking back at her, a brief flash of red passing through his eyes and his jaw tightens as he considers the now dead man’s misgivings.

“That was a long time ago,” she carries on, but this attempt to appeal to his logical side also does not make it pass the strong wall of his unwavering determination.

“It does not matter when it happened,” he stands his ground, making it clear that any offence on her person cannot be forgotten. Ever.

Bedelia exhales slowly, fingers wrapping around the edges of her robe’s sash as if to steady herself.

“I appreciate your concern but,” she presses her lips together to stifle the advancing anger, “that was reckless and unnecessary.”

Her frosty words finally landing within his mind and bursting the bubble of his achievement, Hannibal’s expression turns dispirited, his gaze darting aside. He looks genuinely hurt. Like a cat that got rid of a pesky rodent and instead of excepted treats of affection was sent away with a scolding.

“He threatened you,” he repeats again, pronouncing each word with a sharpness matching an edge of a precise knife, as if the gravity of this statement has not been grasped before, “He put his hand on you,” the crimson fury in his stare marks that assertion, blazing anew even though the man is no longer able to inflict any damage on her. Or anyone, for that matter.

“I handled it,” she responds with the same firmness, “I am capable of taking care of myself, as you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he agrees as her words tame his rage, the red waning from his eyes, but do not alleviate his hurt. Quite the opposite, her continuous refusal to accept his offering makes his stare grow more crestfallen. “But it should not have happened at all. I should not have let it happen,” his eyes peer into hers, heartfelt in his confession.

Another sigh passes through Bedelia’s lips; she knows his words, as much as his actions, are guided by a genuine need to protect her, but now, all she can hear is a superfluous display of a hurt pride. The icy sparks in her eyes flare up as she takes a step forward to face him fully.

“Did it make you feel better? Making it up to your ego?” she demands with unnecessary malice lacing her words, the irritation scratching its way to the surface of her lips with persistent talons.

“That is not what it was about,” he interjects at once, his pique showing in the tension of his shoulders, his arms rigid by his sides.

He takes a step closer to her, lips twisting with indignation, but she does not move, despite his, as always towering, presence.

“Did you manage to silence your sense of guilt then?” she insists, purposely pinning the hurt deeper within his heart, as if it would somehow lessen hers, “The man was of no more consequence to any of us.”

Hannibal continues to look at her, almost sheepish in his stubbornness, the logic of her argument clashing against the conviction of his heart.

“I did it for you. Because I made a promise to protect you, Bedelia,” he says solemnly, lifting his hand and letting the light slipping through the windows glide over his ring, the profundity of their wedding vows equally reflected in his gaze.

“I know you did,” she admits, not without an involuntary flutter in her chest, feeling the ever-comforting sensation of the wedding ring around her own finger.

“But I would rather you were here to keep it. You cannot look after me if you are caught,” the resentment in her voice becomes laced with concern as her heart continues to quiver against her rib cage.

“I merely wanted to keep you safe,” he insists, hard consonants sneaking into his voice as his usual collectedness gives away and marking the importance of his conviction further.

“As do I,” Bedelia’s voice raises and cracks in unforeseen outburst of honesty.

They fall silent; the proclamations reverberate in the air between them, sultry and suffused with cracking tension despite the coolness of their tones.

Only now that the words have ceased, Bedelia realises how ragged her breathing has become, her chests rising and falling in shallow gasps. She looks at Hannibal and sees him equally undone, the heat of his body increasing together with his heartbeat. They stand, facing each other, letting the profundity of their confessions sink within their hearts.

“Bedelia-” he speaks after a moment, but she does not give him a chance to finish.

She takes a decisive step forward, standing on her tippy toes and pressing her lips firmly against his. Hannibal does not hesitate for even a second, his arm encircling her waist as he pulls her closer to him, responding to her kiss with equal urgency, brewing just beneath the fevered surface of his skin. Bedelia presses against his body, soaking up the heat with rapacity. Her mouth moves greedily over his, hands gripping his face, a flip of her tongue making his lips part at once and she deepens the kiss as if devouring all the words he has spoken, trying to relish their sincerity and discern any foul flavours on his tongue. But the sensation of his kiss is as sweet as ever, taste of adoration interlaced with a tang of fierce passion. They both groan as their bodies take over their over agitated minds, spoken words no longer having meaning. Hannibal’s hand moves down to her behind, gripping it firmly and pressing her hips forward to meet his. Bedelia leans on further, feeling his instant arousal taking shape as his erection strains against the confinement of his trousers.

Her hand slides down from his cheek, stroking his neck, before settling on the loose loop of his tie. She pulls at the knot, making it come apart, but instead of removing the tie, her fingers grip its end and bring it under his chin. She pulls the tie up and their mouths part as Hannibal’s head tilts up, obedient to the gentle pressure of the fabric against his skin. Lips red and open, Hannibal struggles to regain his breath, looking down at her, eyes wide and glaring in their untamed desire for her. Yet he remains unmoving, waiting for her next gesture. The sudden rush of power makes Bedelia lightheaded, like simmer of the finest champagne. She tightens the constrain against his chin ever so slightly, making him let out a low growl, the sudden curb of his want not coming easily to him.

A man who is now yielding to her every touch killed someone less than a day ago. Because of her. But would he employ the same determination to keep their peace?

The umbrage flattens the fizzle of her dominance but flares her desire instead. She abandons the grip of the tie, pulling it away from his neck and leans forward, kissing him anew with the same yearning insistence. As thought their shared touch could tell her what the words failed to secure.

The hand on her buttocks grips tighter and instantaneously her feet are no longer on the floor as Hannibal lifts her with ease. Bedelia’s arms wrap around his neck, her lips not leaving his in their thriving ravenousness, as he takes a decisive step forward, guiding them both to the sofa. Their progress comes to an abrupt end as Hannibal’s legs meet the edge of the furniture sooner than anticipated. They stumble and fall on the cushioned seat, with Hannibal’s arms securing Bedelia’s fall.

Their lips come apart and Bedelia pulls at his bottom lip with her teeth, an extra helping to soothe her unstoppable craving. Hannibal growls and responds in same; his mouth progresses to her neck, teeth grazing its side, before sinking into her shoulder, making her gasp. His fingers unwrap her robe and he lets it fall open while his mouth places little nips around her clavicle. Bedelia arches her back and he obeys at once; his lips move down to her breasts, suckling and licking with loud ferocity, his hunger unleashed in full. His teeth bite down on her nipple and she moans, hands shifting to remove his shirt, impatient in her own want. The usually deft fingers now struggle with undoing the buttons; groaning, she grips the side of the opening and pulls it apart, making few buttons tear away and land on a floor with a soft clink, a startling contrast to the lewd sounds of Hannibal’s mouth on her breasts. Yet it does not go unnoticed; Hannibal’s head lifts from her chest, the fire in his eyes wild as he grins in delight at her display of passion. It spurs her on and she swiftly removes his torn shirt, hands grazing his chest in appreciation as she does so. She presses against his torso and his body leans back, pulling her with him, the narrow space of sofa slipping from underneath them. They land on floor with soft thud, Bedelia on top of Hannibal, but the change of surface is barely registered in their wanting minds. Their lips and teeth continue to mark each other, bodies pressing firmly together, the heat between them turning feverish.

Bedelia’s hand rests on his chest as she lifts herself up, legs moving to settle astride his. Hannibal comes to rest on his forearms, hand reaching out, all yearning to embrace her anew, but she halts his eagerness with her fingers pressing firmer into his flesh. Once again, he heeds instantly, laying back down, hands by his side, submitting to her charge. She stretches forward, back arching, so feline in her conquer, her fingers following the lines of his torso, before she sits up again, nails scraping down his hipbones as she undoes his pants and drags them down far enough so she can grab the length of him and guide it between her legs. Without preamble, she lowers herself onto him, a long moan parting her lips as he fills her up completely, just like she wants him to, sustenance to satisfy her appetite. Her hips give a slow nudge forward as she savours the sensation of them coming together so wholly.

_They are a perfect fit in so many ways._

Bedelia does not think she could ever tire of this completion. Hannibal closes his eyes, lost in the same feeling, the feeling of _her_ surrounding him.

But she does not let them linger in the moment as her unfulfilled need is urging her on. She pins her hips down again, harder this time and Hannibal groans, his head tilting back. She pushes down again and again, each motion of her hips more vigorous than the previous one, her hair falling down over her shoulder, swooshing with the rhythm of her momentum. Hannibal’s hands reach out afresh to rest on her hips and she does not stop him. He grips them firmly, steadying her in her unrelentless pace. His gaze is ravenous as he watches her flowing over him, taking her fill, eyes following each bead of sweat falling slowly down her body like grey pearls scattered across her skin.

It does not take her long; incessant in her pursuit of release and knowing exactly how to claim it from him, soon Bedelia’s fingers dig into his chest as her body quivers. The pleasure seems so effortless when she is with Hannibal; her back arches anew, eyes becoming glossed over with sudden outburst of light in the line of her vision. Her legs press tightly against his hips as she strives to keep her balance while ripples of bliss continue to oscillate through her body.

Hannibal lifts himself up once again and this time she allows his arms to enwrap her, holding her close as the tremble of her body slowly abates. The haze clears from her eyes and she begins to move afresh, hips once again rocking forcefully against his. Hannibal groans as the returned friction of their bodies brings novel sparks igniting within them. His mouth wraps around her breast, tongue caressing its outline with fresh gusto, the delicacy he has never enough of. Hannibal’s hips move up as he meets her thrust for thrust. She moans as each push resonates with delectation within her, bringing the pleasure to build anew. His lips finally abandon her breasts as he looks up at her, wanting, yet somehow tranquil. Bedelia rests her forehead on his as their bodies continue to advance together. His chin tilts up and his lips press against her, gentler this time, the eye of calming devotion in the middle of the storm of their passion. The ardour between their bodies burns still, filing the room with sounds of their untiring movement, but there is serenity between their joined gazes. The world around them vanishes in its insignificance and it is just the two of them. As it always was.

_They are the only thing that matters._

Unfaded intensity begins to rise in Bedelia’s core with force and Hannibal meets it instantly. One of his hands moves in between her legs, his fingers drawing sharp lines over her swollen bud, just like he knows she likes. And she comes again, hips coming down forcibly on him while pulling his body closer and pressing his head to her chest, the sound of his name adrift in the depths of her loud moan.

Once the last echo of her pleasure ceases to sound against the high ceiling, Hannibal begins to jerk in sharp motions, reaching his own release with a pronounced grumble. His fingers clasp her back and hers tangle in his hair as they continue to hold each other, their shared movement slowing down then coming to an end altogether. Their heartbeats echo in their ears, both racing in the same tempo. The grip of his hands lessens as he now embraces her with utmost tenderness. Bedelia senses their bodies pulsing still, the previous bud of tension now bloomed into a flower of mutual fulfilment. More than just fulfilment, Bedelia knows it well.

_Mutual understanding._

She turns limp in his arms, relaxed and trusting.

  


The alteration of the passing day is unnoticed; brisk overcast announced by gathering clouds and casting a metallic gleam over the sky. A storm might be brewing outside, but within the walls of the hotel suite it has already passed, clearing the air of its pressure and leaving a soft afterglow behind.

They remain resting together on the floor, Hannibal lying on his back and Bedelia reclining on his chest, oblivious to the passing hours of the day. Bedelia purrs contentedly, nuzzling his neck. She inhales deeply, breathing in the untamed scent of him and relishing the shared heat. Her legs stretch in between Hannibal’s, still feeling quivery. She smiles to herself, her foot rubbing against his. She does think she would able to stand up yet, but that is more than all right; she does not plan to move any time soon. Hannibal shifts to pull her closer, knowing how much she enjoys being enveloped in his body in their post amorous moments, mouth pressing gentle kisses on her temple. A sudden chuckle leaves his lips, resonating beneath her skin.

“What is it?” her head lifts slowly and she moves to roll herself on top of him, her body pressing firmly against his, her skin not wanting to peel away from his, as she gives him a throughout stare. It would prove more effective if her eyes weren’t still glossy from the aftermath of their pleasure.

“I now understand why people fight,” he responds with a satisfied grin, his voice husky still, his arm stretching lazily behind his head as he savours the feel of her body on his.

“Hannibal-” she presses her hand firmly against his chest in a gesture of reprimand, lifting herself up to scrutinise him further.

He instantly wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her back to rest on his torso in attempt to appease her.

“Are you planning any further excursions down the memory lane then?” she continues, glaring at him. The hazy mist of pleasure begins to lift from her mind, but she is still unable to resist the inviting lure of his embrace.

“No, that was the only unfinished matter,” he responds at once, reaching his hand out to stroke her cheek, making Bedelia close her eyes, savouring the caress.

“I know you were looking out for me,” she admits, leaning into the caress further, another purr starting to swell in the back of her throat.

“I am sorry,” he says quietly. Bedelia’s eyes spring open, unsure if she has heard him or merely imagined it, but the stare that meets her is full of earnest regret, putting a real seal on his apology. “I did not mean to upset you,” he declares and Bedelia opens her mouth to protest his reasoning, but his hand finds her cheek anew, turning the words into a soft sigh.

“I will not let anything befell you,” he asserts afresh.

She seeks to raise another correction to his promise but does not get a chance as he speaks again.

“I will not let anything befell _us_ ,” he corrects himself.

The scowl of objection transforms into a timid smile of radiance, her resistance melting away together with her doubt. His arms continue to enfold her, restful and secure in their feel. It is more than just a sprout of a moment; nothing is fleeting or accidental, she senses it in his touch.

Peace they are both preserving.

**Author's Note:**

> I have always referred to him as the "sleazy polizia guy", but it turned out the inspector had a name, as per "Dolce" script.  
> I have never liked the scene between him and Bedelia and this story felt like a nice closure and a fitting end for the guy.  
> Plus some hot sex between Bedelia and Hannibal is always a good idea.  
> Thank you for reading! Hope you are all safe. Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed the story. ♥


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